Never Let Go of Happiness
by bitsandbobs86
Summary: Aramis never meant to fall for Henri but he did. He's not a man to be stopped but given the time, the situation isn't ideal. How can they possibly make this work? What will the others think? Do they need to know?
1. Chapter 1

A/N There may be some period related homophobia to be found. This is no way reflects my opinions.

Aramis swayed as yet another Parisian pushed passed him to get into the tavern.

"Mind out of the way," the next man growled as he too shoved the musketeer aside.

"Sorry, sorry," Aramis murmured. He steadied himself and took a breath. He hadn't realised he'd stopped. Stopped. Aramis never stopped.

He shuddered in the cool night air. Enough. He had to face this.

He reached forward, pushed the door and, with his head bowed, he finally stepped inside. He kept moving and then realised he would eventually have to raise his head. Heart pounding in his ears, he slowly started to look up. Their eyes met instantly. Aramis felt his stomach lurch and immediately looked down again but it seemed the rest of his body didn't know what to do. Stopped again. He didn't know how long he had been stood there just trying his hardest to breathe when he felt a breath in his ear.

"Follow me," the man whispered. Aramis willed his feet to move.

The other man led him to the entrance of the cellar.

"We'll be alone here," he gave as an explanation.

Aramis walked passed him without a word and went to stand in the farthest corner. He didn't turn around but instead hovered in front of some barrels.

"You came back," the man stated behind him. He chose to stand just inside the doorway.

"Yes," Aramis replied distantly and then he snorted lightly but without humour, "It occurred to me that you...that you are possibly the only person who knows how I am feeling."

The man let out a sigh, "I...I...I don't know how I am feeling."

Only then did Aramis turn around. "Precisely," he said allowing a small, nervous smile.

When their eyes met, they both felt a stab of something. If only they knew what it was and what to do with it.

"I'm sorry I left," Aramis apologised quietly.

"I hardly encouraged you to stay."

Again they smiled at each other but then the moment broke as a part of Aramis snapped. He swung round, whipped the hat off his head and ran his hands through his hair ferociously.

"What did we do?" he gritted, "What the hell did we do?"

The other man remained back; waiting and watching. He found he had no answers.

Aramis turned to face him again with tears in his eyes. All anger had disappeared as quickly as it came and now he sounded devastated, "Henri? What did we do?"

Henri closed the distance between them and before he had time to think he was placing what would have been a comforting hand on Aramis' arm. It didn't feel comforting. Not now.

Aramis stared at the hand. Every part of him aware of the touch, "It's wrong."

"Yes," Henri said because what else could he say? It was wrong.

"I couldn't even bring myself to pray," Aramis admitted. The hand on his arm was removed and Henri wrapped his arms around himself defensively.

"There is only us that know."

Aramis blinked and tilted his head in question.

"We don't ever have to speak of it," Henri continued. He was fixated on a spot on the floor, "It never happened."

A knot was forming in Aramis' stomach. "It never happened?" he mused.

Henri stepped backwards suddenly, "Under the circumstances, it may be best if we never see each other again." The words were spat out at pace and held a venom that made Aramis jolt.

"Is that what you want?" Aramis found the question tumbling from his lips. It was aggressive and accusing.

Henri's eyes burnt. He said nothing.

Aramis nodded, rubbed his eyes harshly and replaced the hat on his head, "Fine. Fine." He stated firmly as he swiftly made for the exit. He needed to get out before he shattered like broken glass.

"Aramis..."

The musketeer halted at his name. Said in a way it had never been said before. A lifeline in a sea of confusion.

"I don't..." Henri faltered as he continued, "I don't want you to leave."

The musketeer shook his head. He was exhausted. "What do you want?"

Silence. Then there were footsteps. Purposeful footsteps and strong hands were twisting Aramis around on the spot.

"I want you," Henri breathed as he lent forward and tentatively touched his forehead to the other man's. Aramis melted against him.

"I know it's wrong," Henri whispered as tears started to fall, "A sin. We'll be hung."

"So we can't," Aramis sighed and despite his words, he softly nuzzled Henri, "We can't." Hands took hold of each of his cheeks and he was gently forced into looking directly at the other man.

"No one needs to know."

Aramis could feel the hope blazing in Henri's eyes as they locked on him intensely but in his head, his own stupid head, the truth rang like an alarm, "It won't last."

Henri closed his eyes. His whole body drooped but it wasn't to be for long as soft lips met his chastely.

His eyes snapped back open. Aramis had a small smirk gracing his own tear streaked face, "I've always been reckless." Aramis never stopped.

...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Warning- non-explicit mention of miscarriage at the start.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER-

It was three months since the Queen had suffered her terrible loss. Aramis had not coped well.

They'd all known in the end. Aramis had been unable to keep the secret from Porthos and d'Artagnan. His lingering looks at the mother of his child and over-concern for her welfare had aroused suspicion. They were furious at first but whatever anger they felt was cast aside the moment they heard the devastating news and they vowed to support their grieving friend.

Their brand of support involved an awful lot of drink. They'd go out most nights and try to drown away the sorrow. The amount of drinking eventually began to lessen but they still continued to spend the majority of down time together; Aramis not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts. If Aramis was reluctant to seek the company of women now, no one questioned it. It wasn't the time.

However, there came a day when Aramis was left alone. Due to some suspected broken ribs sustained while battling Spanish spies, Treville had seen fit to give him the day off. Therefore, he watched his friends ride off without him and wandered back to his bed as ordered.

He lasted maybe an hour before he had to move. Years of practice found him slipping out of the garrison completely unnoticed. He slowly made his way through the streets of Paris unable to ignore the ache in his chest. When he finally reached a tavern, he lent against the wall just outside to catch his breath. He daren't have stayed in one of their usual haunts closer to the garrison lest a fellow Musketeer spotted him and informed Treville.

"Stop! You can't...Somebody help!" The shout from inside the tavern cut through the haze of Aramis pain. He instantly straightened and rushed towards the voice.

Flinging open the door, he saw two masked men holding down the shouting man as another two were robbing what they could from behind the bar. It seemed a couple of people had already tried to help but they now lay in a heap on the floor.

Aramis wasted little time. One gunshot, two swift swings of a sword and a well timed headbutt was all it took to have the four criminals on the ground.

The shouting man looked in equal parts amazed and relieved. He scrambled up quickly from the ground and instinctively went to embrace his savior in thanks. Unfortunately, Aramis' battered body decided enough was enough and he promptly passed out.

…

His eyes flickered open and he winced slightly at the light.

"Ah good, you're back with us," a voice said from somewhere in front of him. He appeared to be lying down across two chairs. He had been stripped to his shirt which immediately had him itching to know the whereabouts of his weapons. With much effort, he swung his feet down to the floor and sat up. Scanning the room, which appeared to be a small kitchen area, he located his things in the corner of the room on a table.

"That was quite an entrance you made." Aramis could see the owner of the voice now; a man slightly older than himself with mop of dusky blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He was also holding out a much appreciated glass of water.

Aramis took a sip before finding his own voice, "Are you ok?"

The other man laughed, "Not sure it's you who should be asking that question."

"You were being robbed." Aramis rubbed at his face tiredly.

"Yes but you put an end to that. I owe you a drink by the way."

Aramis held out his glass of water with a smile. Again the other man laughed, "A proper one. Seriously, I can't thank you enough."

The musketeer tried to wave a hand to signal it was nothing but that only made him wince as it reawakened his injured ribs.

"You look like you were trampled by a horse," the man said eying him pointedly. When Aramis had collapsed in his arms, he and a helpful customer had moved him into the backroom and proceeded to check him over. The bruising across his chest was not hard to miss.

"You're not far wrong," Aramis told him with a grimace.

The other man knew that was all he was going to get, "Mind you, as a King's Musketeer, you must be used to injury."

Aramis narrowed his eyes slightly but the other man just nodded to the pile of his clothes. "Recognized the uniform," he said in way of explanation, "I may not have been in Paris long but even I know that when I see it. I'm Henri Dequetteville, by the way."

"Aramis," The Musketeer replied with a polite smile.

"Well, Aramis, my uncle is currently out there running the place so what do you say I give you a lift back?"

"That won't be necessary," Aramis shook his head.

"Cart is out there ready," Henri shrugged, "Beats walking."

That was true, Aramis thought. He remembered the ache of walking to the tavern and he hadn't exactly had the relaxing time planned. Also a cart would be quicker so there would be less chance of someone realizing he had gone.

"Cart it is," Aramis stated.

…

"Where the hell have you been?"

"You are supposed to be in bed!"

"I knew we should have tied you down!"

Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan wasted no time in making their opinions heard as soon as they saw Aramis enter the garrison on the cart.

Henri chuckled while he helped Aramis down, "Seems someone is in trouble."

"He's always in damn trouble," Athos gritted pinching the bridge of his nose.

Aramis sighed. His friend's weren't supposed to be back but since they were, "Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, this is Henri. Henri meet three angry, overly-concerned people."

"Aramis!" A sharp yell came from above.

Aramis rolled his eyes, "Make that four angry, overly-concerned people."

"I'll give you angry and overly-concerned," The captain snapped on his approach from the stairs, "When those ribs are healed, you are on stable duty for a month. I can't believe you still pull these stunts."

"I merely went for a quiet drink," Aramis defended.

"And instead you fought off four criminals and passed out," Henri finished with a scoff of amusement. Five pair of eyes fell on him wiping any trace of humor away. One set looked thoroughly betrayed and the others furious.

d'Artagnan was the first to turn his stare to Aramis, "You are unbelievable."

"What did you do that for?" Aramis asked Henri incredulously completely ignoring the young Gascon.

Henri shrugged apologetically, "Sorry."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Treville quirked his brow towards the man who had returned his most reckless Musketeer.

"Henri Dequetteville, Sir. I am in town helping my uncle run his tavern. Aramis arrived just as we were being robbed. They never stood a chance."

Porthos' anger slipped and he patted a congratulatory hand on his best friend's shoulder, "I'll bet."

Aramis smiled and it was then that his other friends and his Captain all thawed towards him because for the first time in a long time, the smile reached his eyes.

"Of course, he hit the deck like a stone straight after," Henri continued rather unhelpfully Aramis thought and d'Artagnan sniggered.

Treville sighed, "Well, thanks for bringing him back in one piece."

"Least I could do."

Porthos regarded the man, "We owe you a drink."

"Yeah, you don't have to rush back?" d'Artagnan piped up encouragingly.

Henri glanced towards Aramis who raised his brow, "No, I don't have to rush back," he decided.

Treville and Athos shared a look of exasperated parents who had lost a battle; Aramis was forgiven again. They never did seem to be able to stay angry with him for long.


	3. Chapter 3

TWO WEEKS AFTER CHAPTER 1

Constance was startled by the rushed knocking on her door. She put down her sewing quickly but carefully and moved to answer it.

"d'Artagnan?!" She gasped at the sight of the young musketeer stood on her step; it had been months.

"Are you alone?" His eyes were wide and panicked.

Constance didn't speak she just opened the door wider and let him past.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan began as he paced in her kitchen, "I didn't know where else to go and I couldn't...I couldn't..."

A firm hand stopped his movements, "What's going on, d'Artagnan? You're scaring me."

The Musketeer dropped his head, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"d'Artagnan?" Constance couldn't help but run a soothing hand down the back of his hair and oh how it felt-

"Aramis was kissing Henri."

Constance's hand stopped moving. Time stopped moving. What did he just say?

"He'd forgotten his hat so I went after him and there they were," d'Artagnan swallowed and turned to his lost love for guidance.

Constance took a step back, "Are you sure that is what you saw?"

d'Artagnan nodded slowly; tears were stinging at his eyes, "Believe me, the image has not left my head. Also...it didn't seem like it was the first time."

"Oh my..." Constance gasped and fell backwards into a chair, "Oh, Aramis."

A chair was pulled up beside her and d'Artagnan slumped heavily into it. He rubbed his face, "What the hell do I do?"

"It's...it's...illegal," Constance stuttered, "It's...it's..."

"Not natural," d'Artagnan whispered.

They sat enveloped in their own thoughts for a while. Until suddenly Constance placed a hand on d'Artagnan's knee, "You can't say anything," she said firmly.

The young man looked up at her questioningly, "But..."

"But. But?" Constance scoffed lightly, "d'Artagnan, you say something and that is it. It's over."

"It should never have started," d'Artagnan argued.

Constance shook her head, "No, it's over. For Aramis. Completely."

That hit d'Artagnan like a musket ball to the chest.

"Staying quiet is all you can do," Constance reasoned, "They must know their sin. The risks. d'Artganan, no matter our thoughts, do we really wish devastation on Aramis?"

The young man shook his head. "Aramis is a brother," he felt uncomfortable in the way those words tasted funny on his tongue now. Families were supposed to stick together through thick and thin so why did this feel wrong?

"So, we carry on," Constance froze and then corrected herself, "_you_ carry on. As normal."

d'Artagnan didn't miss the change in tone and for a moment all worries of Aramis were forgotten and his heart broke for a love he couldn't keep.

...

It had only been a week since d'Artagnan had gone to Constance and he was finding it difficult. The hardest thing was that he couldn't work out why. He'd thought about nothing less since seeing the kiss. Aside from Constance. Constance. He'd ripped open a wound there but at least he understood that. Nothing about Aramis made sense.

Aramis was still his friend, his brother, that greeted him every morning with a confident, charming smile. Nothing had changed.

And yet everything had changed. Aramis was kissing Henri. Aramis was seeing another man. Aramis was no longer Aramis anymore.

d'Artganan hoped he was acting normally around him because he sure didn't feel normal. God only knew what he'd do when Henri returned to Paris from his business trip.

However, things came to a head before then.

d'Artagnan took a sword to the side on the battlefield. Athos had reached him first. He pulled up his shirt and inspected the wound.

"This will need stitches," Athos stated, "You'll be fine though. Not too deep."

Porthos was next to join them, "Got scraped again, d'Artagnan? You don't half like keeping Aramis busy?"

d'Artagnan felt a small pang of horror in his gut. "No," he snapped out before thinking, "No. Not Aramis."

Athos frowned, "Porthos was joking."

"Yeah," Porthos smiled, "I know you don't mean to get injured. Most of the time."

D'Artagnan sighed, "One of you stitch it."

"I would be better if we waited-" Athos began but he was forcefully interrupted.

"I want one of you to do it!"

Aramis chose then to appear, "What are you doing to him? Or not doing?" He questioned after hearing the young man shout.

Porthos looked up at his best friend, "d'Artagnan, here, needs some stitching."

"Of course he does," Aramis nodded resisting the urge to roll his eyes, "I'll get my things."

Athos hadn't stopped looking at d'Artganan who had finally managed to calm himself somewhat but the earlier behaviour had definitely been logged.

Aramis returned, talking loudly, "Athos, Treville needs you and Porthos, your horse is on the rampage again."

Porthos groaned and marched away purposefully. Athos cast one more glance towards d'Artganan but then he too followed orders and left.

Aramis sat down and opened his kit. He threaded the needle carefully. Everything was as it always was. Except d'Artagnan's cheeks were burning. The thought of Aramis so close to him. The thought of Aramis touching him.

The needle got closer. The man got closer. D'Artagnan flinched.

It was all it took.

Aramis caught his eyes in surprise. But then he knew.

"You know," Aramis gasped. He was hovering over the young man. Frozen by a rush of emotions.

d'Artagnan nodded silently from underneath him.

Aramis unfroze and quickly retreated away from d'Artagnan until he was sat facing him. There was a noticeable gap between them now.

d'Artagnan couldn't hold his gaze. Suddenly all he was left to feel was ashamed. He shifted uncomfortably which served to remind him that he was bleeding.

"I can get someone else to stitch it," Aramis' voice was soft and unbearable to d'Artagnan's ears. He sounded utterly defeated.

When d'Artagnan didn't respond, the older man started to stand.

"Wait!" The request was quiet but definite and Aramis stopped, "You do it."

Aramis crouched down again carefully, "I will get someone-"

"Aramis, you do it," d'Artagnan met his gaze fully this time. Those brown pools were so open and honest and d'Artagnan felt sick for his previous reactions.

The older musketeer didn't argue again, he merely straightened his needle and thread and closed the gap.

d'Artagnan lifted up his shirt and lent back. The tension had drained away. It seemed clear now. He was the one who'd changed. Aramis was still Aramis.

"I'm sorry," Aramis murmured and d'Artganan noticed his hands were shaking.

The Gascon placed his smaller hands on top and squeezed. "It's alright," he whispered back meaningfully and in his heart he knew he meant it. He'd have to work on his head.

Aramis' visibly relaxed but now tears pricked at his eyes, "Perhaps I should get someone else anyway," he suggested.

"Nah, even like this you'd do a better job than those two," d'Artagnan joked lightly.

Aramis sniffed, "It's quite worrying that that is true."

They both smiled.

...


End file.
